


Figure Skater Next Door

by thelazyegg



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Angst, Artist AU, Flowerboy next door au, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Neighbours AU, Self Confidence Issues, a tiny smidge of angst probably, fluff lots of fluff probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-10-23 23:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10729095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelazyegg/pseuds/thelazyegg
Summary: "It’s wrong. He knows it’s wrong, and he should probably turn himself in to the police, but it’s difficult not to stare when one lives next door to a silver haired god."Yuuri Katsuki, a popular webtoon artist, finds himself spying on his exceedingly handsome neighbour, who unknowingly becomes his next muse. Problem is, they've never spoken a word to each other, and Yuuri can't take his eyes off him. Meanwhile, said handsome neighbour, Viktor Nikiforov is a world famous figure skater, who is just looking for some peace and quiet between seasons. Thankfully, no one around him seems to catch on.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea from the drama, Flower boy Next Door and thought it would be adorable to see victuuri in it! I might make this a multichapter fic, but I'm still in the process of planning it out :>

_ R I N G !  _

A groan, as a hand reaches out from the mountain of blankets, groping blindly at the bedside table, before Yuuri catches hold of his buzzing phone. Blearily, he rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he moves to sit upright, fingers automatically unlocking his phone and silencing the alarm. He’s not a morning person-- but sometimes, he’s willing to make exceptions. 

And that exception happens to be his best kept secret.

 

Despite the slow start, he doesn’t have much time to waste, shoving the blankets away.  _ Five minutes _ , he has it timed down to the last second. Sprinting out of the room, to the coffee machine and grabbing a mug of the shelf, he knows just what buttons to press to get his daily blend. It’s followed by a dash to the bathroom and a return trip to grab the freshly brewed coffee. 

 

_ Four minutes, fifty nine seconds _ . 

 

Just on time. And on this morning, just like every morning, Yuuri Katsuki, raises his first- out of many- cups of coffee to his lips and pushes apart the curtains, giving him a glorious view of the apartment next door. 

 

It’s wrong. He  _ knows _ it’s wrong, and he should probably turn himself in to the police, but it’s difficult not to stare when one lives next door to a silver haired god. 

 

He doesn’t use the word god lightly, either. Yuuri is a trained artist, his eyes are skilled enough to seek out imperfections, yet this man has  _ none _ . Angular features, bright blue eyes, and a smile that put cherubs to shame. Funnily enough, these were features the current main character of his web series, seemed to share. 

 

It was all done in the name of artistic inspiration. Yuuri always told himself, as he watched the other man drag himself to the kitchen, offering a loving pat to the brown poodle by his side--  _ it was too early in the morning to look this good--  _ he was merely observing for the sake of his art. Inspiration had to come from somewhere, and his next door neighbour just so happened to be his muse.

 

“A cooking day, huh?” Yuuri wonders out loud, to the silence of his own apartment. It makes him snort to see the silver haired man leaning over the stove, pulling out a pan after his last disastrous experiment with making eggs. It seemed like he wanted to try his luck again, with pancakes this time. The poodle seemed to approve, judging by it’s wagging tail.

 

Plenty of famous artists were influenced by people they knew in real life. Sure, Yuuri didn’t exactly  _ know _ the man-- they had passed each other on the corridor once, when Yuuri had squeaked a hello and the other had given him a smile so warm he thought his heart might burst. 

 

He couldn’t go through that _again_. He didn’t think he would survive, not now, knowing what he knew.

 

Seemed like something was going wrong with the pancakes.  _ Oh no _ . Yuuri’s frown deepened. 

 

“No- ah, don’t flip it to soon!” 

 

He speaks the words as he leans forward, his nose nearly bumping against the window. But of course it goes unheard, as the man continues to flip his pancakes almost recklessly, nearly dropping them on the floor more than once. Even so, he seems to be enjoying himself, laughing a little at his own antics. Playfully, he challenged greater heights, until some batter landed on the floor. It seemed to be the moment the poodle was waiting for, swooping down eagerly whilst the man watched on in mock dismay. 

 

Yuuri’s heart swelled. It was wrong, but he couldn’t help it.  _ Watching _ . 

 

Almost  _ wanting _ . 

 

And just like that, as the other man settled down for breakfast, Yuuri found himself moving towards the only table in his own apartment. Every inch was covered in scribbles, drawings of what would be the next volume in  _ Shall we act _ ?, and he shoved the late night doodles away, setting down his now cooling cup of coffee.

 

                                        “ I guess it’s time to start the day.” 

 

-*-

 

The other man was still a mystery. Yuuri didn’t exactly know what he did for work; he never wore a suit, but always left promptly at eight in the morning, and returned in the evenings, without fail to walk his dog. Occasionally, he did find himself wondering, if he was a model, or perhaps an actor-- now that would be  _ too _ much of a coincidence-- but then he would stop himself immediately. He had done enough  _ wondering _ about this man’s personal life after all.

 

Either way, he seemed to keep too a busy but regular schedule, and rarely had anyone else around. In fact, Yuuri was watching him adjust the scarf around his neck-- it was getting chilly in Japan-- when the door to his apartment was practically kicked down. 

_ Phichit _ . Hissing, he hurriedly closes the blinds, planting himself down at his desk and running his fingers through his hair in hopes it will give the impression he’s been hard at work for hours.

 

“Yuuri!” A deceptively sweet voice. Yuuri picks up the pencil, pretending to be deep in thought. Sadly, Yuuri has never been a good liar, and the page in front of him has unfortunately been blank the whole time. 

 

The empty panels are glaringly obvious to a keen eye like Phichit’s, and firm arms all but grab him by the shoulders. “You said you would have some pages for me today! You  _ promised _ me, Yuuri!”

 

Muttering some apologies, Yuuri keeps up the act by rifling through the papers on his messy desk. He prays Phichit will accept some excuse-- any excuse-- like a lack of inspiration, or not quite having the right mood, but he’s pretty sure he’s worn these excuses out in the years he’s known the editor. It’s never  _ simple _ with Phichit.

  
  


“-- What  **am** I going to tell the publisher,  _ Yuuri _ ! We have deadlines! People are  _ dying _ to know what happens next! The people  _ need _ to know, Yuuri! Will Yura ever earn Edgar’s attention? Or will he have to trail after him as his protege forever?” Such abysmal wails are expected from Phichit, so his blood all but runs cold when the thai man reaches over to the curtains, “And why is it so  **dark** in here? Honestly, you can’t expect to get inspiration like  _ this _ .”

 

All he can hear whilst Phichit is clicking his tongue, is the pounding of his heart.

 

_ Please be gone, please be gone, please be gone _ \--! 

 

He keeps his eyes trained on the paper before him, still blank, his pencil now tapping uncomfortably against it, leaving dark, ugly marks until he hears Phichit say, “Is that your neighbour? Wow.”

 

Yuuri whirls around with a little more force than he expected, all but trying to stop himself from snapping the pencil in half. “What-” Desperately, he tries to feign ignorance, a million excuses running through his head- “Here! I found them, the papers, please just step away from the window-”

 

_ Oh _ . 

 

It’s not his neighbour at all. 

 

A blonde haired teenager, opening the door and just sauntering in, dragging a leopard print luggage behind him. Yuuri winces as he watches him kick the sofa in displeasure, and all he can think is, 

 

What on earth..? 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today I finally sat down and planned out the rest of the fic, and I'm so excited to be able to write it out for you guys! There are so many surprises in store, haha. If all goes well, it should have a total of ten chapters and now finals are over, I hope I'll be able to update more regularly ^O^
> 
> Comments and feedback would be greatly appreciated!

“... Stupid  _ Viktor _ .” Said Russian teen spat, as he made his way into the flat, taking care to make his entrance as loud and as noisy as possible. It had been the other man’s  _ stupid _ idea to have him come over and stay in Japan during off-season, and somehow he had managed to convince Yakov that it would do poor, prepubescent Yuri a world of good. And he wasn’t even here to greet him!

 

He throws himself on the sofa, kicking his feet up on the coffee table with such vigour it sends copies of magazines flying to the ground. Yuri smiled. Served the old bastard right.

 

He didn’t  _ want _ to be in Japan. In fact, Yuri never understood why Viktor had decided to spend his time off here, of all places in the world, when he could be back in St Petersburg with Yuri, working on the short program that would see the younger skater winning a gold at his senior debut. But no threats, or pleas (he had tried both) would make Viktor come, so Yuri just had to come to him instead.

 

Stupid,  _ boring _ Japan. 

 

At least the idiot had wifi. Digging into his pocket to retrieve his phone, Yuri scrolled past the missed calls from Yakov, Mila, Georgi and the rest (ha, as if he would call  _ them _ ) and instead, went to the conversation he last had with Beka. 

 

It seemed the Kazakhstani was offline, but before Yuri could work himself to a rage about it, he found he had unread messages. 

_ I found you this webcomic,  _ it said,  _ thought you might like it. It’s really popular over here _ .

_ I thought you might need something to help you pass the time _ . 

 

Ha. Webcomic. How  _ stupid _ .

 

His finger hovered over the link, then glancing around furtively to make sure no one was watching, he jabbed at it, and waited for the page to load.

 

-*-

 

“He’s.. really something.” Phichit laughed, just as Yuuri recovered from nearly bursting an artery, “I can see why you keep the curtain closed now.” And just like that, he released the drapes, and Yuuri found he could breathe again. 

 

Phichit was wrong, terribly wrong, and Yuuri’s mind was still reeling with thoughts of who the young boy even  _ was _ , but for now, he was just thankful for the narrow escape. 

 

“Anyway--” Phichit continued cheerfully, “Your last chapter has been doing really well! The fans are going  _ crazy _ , Yuuri. It was perfect, a tragic backstory for Yura? You’re a genius! Everyone just ate it up, and it explains so much!”

 

“Why he was so hard on himself when he was younger, when he first saw Vlad and knew he was going to be his inspiration, his idol! And after losing that big role, how he isolated himself. Of course only Vlad could bring him out of his shell!” His eyes were doing that thing again, and Yuuri was positive he could almost see the heart forming. It would have been funny, if it didn’t hit so close to home. 

 

All of a sudden, Yuuri found the floor very, very interesting. 

 

“They’re perfect for each other.” Phichit declared, “Opposites attract, and all. It was about time, Yuuri.” The softening of his tone made the Japanese man look up, startled by the sudden change.

 

“It was about time Yura realised he didn’t have to go through it all alone.” 

 

Their eyes meet, and Yuuri realises he isn’t used to this-- sitting in silence with Phichit. The other man could always be counted on to carry the conversation, even with Yuuri’s noncommittal noises and shrugs. It was too out of character; Yuuri swallowed a lump in his throat he hadn’t noticed before.

 

“It’s not that easy,” He doesn’t know why he sounds so defensive, all of a sudden. Or why his tiny apartment, his safe haven, suddenly seems like it’s closing in on him, “Yura’s doing the best he can. It’s not that easy to overcome failure. Sometimes.. Sometimes hiding away seems like the only choice. It’s easier said than done, Phichit.”

 

He watches the other man purse his lips, and is reminded of the fact they had been friends, before he had asked Phichit to be his editor. 

 

“When was the last time you left the house, Yuuri?” 

 

It’s the dreaded question. It’s never been like that before; usually Phichit would just pop in, poke at a few things, and joke about having to leave before the “mould” got to him. Yuuri hates this. He wishes he had done the pages after all. That would have been easier than even this.

 

“Why do you care?” The words come out harsher than he intends them to, and then, almost apologetically, “I’ll have your pages tomorrow.”

 

He sees something unfamiliar flash across Phichit’s face, an emotion he’s sketched hundreds of times. Before he can fully register it’s  _ hurt _ , Phichit is already on his feet, turning his back on him. 

 

“You know what? Terrible neighbours or not, I don’t care. You need to let some light in.” 

 

-*-

 

“Yu~ri.”

 

The sudden voice in his ear makes him jerk up from where he had been curled up on the sofa, clutching his phone. Immediately, his expression deepens to that of a scowl. Yuri hadn’t expected to become som engrossed, so much so that he didn’t even hear Viktor enter the apartment. 

 

“Get off me, old man!” The tips of his ears are bright red, even as he shoves Viktor off the sofa. “Haven’t you ever heard of personal space?’

 

But of course the idiot doesn’t stop, tapping a finger against his chin. “What were you reading?” He drawls out, “A comic, Yuri?” 

 

The teenager meets his teasing with fury of his own, “None of your  _ damn _ business.” 

 

“-- I have to say, one of them looked a lot like me, didn’t he?” 

 

Yuri pulls as a face. “As  _ if. _ There aren’t no  _ balding _ , old men in the comic. Don’t be stupid. “ 

 

“You’re so mean.” Pouting, from a man nearly ten years in his senior. Yuri _ hated _ living with Viktor already. A pause, "I'm not  _balding_. I haven't lost any hair since I got here. I check in the mirror every morning!" Pointedly, Viktor leans down, revealing the crown of his head to Yuri, "See? It's perfectly lush."

 

“Fuck off, old man!”

 

-*- 

 

Phichit exhales, and for a moment, Yuuri’s gaze remains fixed on the small of his back, his mind running through a million things to say. The last thing he wanted was for things to end on an awkward note, not when Phichit was the only one to ever visit him.

 

He shouldn’t have been so cruel. 

 

But after a moment or two, Yuuri realised it was not the strained atmosphere that had rendered Phichit speechless. Looking past the editor’s shoulder, he came to face the unfortunate truth.

 

_ Viktor was home _ . 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to get comments about the rate at which I would update, I'm not sure if I should set a schedule or just upload a chapter whenever.. feedback on that would be great so I could see what everyone prefers C:

“Who--” Phichit’s eyes widened impossibly, but his question never came. Instead, “Oh my god.” So it seemed like the penny had dropped, and all Yuuri could do was _cringe_ as he waited for the onslaught of questions, He had been caught, and he had no idea what Phichit would say. Given their previous conversation, he was anticipating being yelled at; he wouldn’t blame the editor for thinking it was strange.

 

Even Yuuri knew it was _strange_. And possibly illegal.

 

Which is why he didn’t expect Phichit to clap his hands together so eagerly. “It’s him, isn’t it? Vlad. That’s _Vlad_ , it looks just like him!”

 

He gestured to the drawings pinned up on the wall, of the silver haired protagonist. The only difference was the length of their hair, otherwise the two might as well have been twins.

 

Yuuri wanted to die right there.

 

“It’s not, it’s not what you _think_ -” Feebly, he tried to explain, but it seemed the editor was already on a roll.

 

“So **that’s** why you never leave the house, Yuuri! If my neighbour looked like that, I wouldn’t leave the house either!” Phichit crowed, face pressed against the glass, “You should have told me about him earlier, Yuuri! It was selfish, keeping him all to yourself.”

 

“Please just _leave_. He might see you!”

 

It had the desired effect; Phichit turned away from the window, only to turn his eyes on a flustered Yuuri. “Has he? Seen you? I mean, I know you’ve been spying on him, and I can’t blame you, who could resist? But you must have done something more, Yuuri! When did he move in?”

  
“ _Three months ago_ .” His words come out in a muffled groan. His face was buried in his hands; there was no use trying to hide anything from Phichit. When the young man was onto something, he became as stubborn as a dog with a bone. It was what made him so good at his job. “And no he hasn’t. I want to keep it that way. We’re just _neighbours_ , Phichit.”

 

“-- Which means it would be easier for him to move in.” Phichit filled in for him, suddenly grabbing his hands and pulling them to his chest.

 

“I’m your best friend, Yuuri.” The seriousness with which he delivered this line made it almost sound like a love confession “Okay, your _only_ friend. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you die in here alone! Just wait, I have a plan.”

 

-*-

 

“No. _Absolutely not._ No way!”

 

A day had passed before Phichit was at his door again. Expectantly, Yuuri held out pages of his dutifully completed pages, ones he had worked on all night. Unfortunately, the editor had barely spared them a glance before barrelling past him.

 

So his plan had failed. He had hoped to distract Phichit and have him leave, but the other man was already in his apartment, and pulling out a pair of bright yellow binoculars.

 

And now they had arrived at a stalemate, Yuuri standing resolutely before the parted curtains in an attempt to block Phichit’s view. It had less to do with selfishness, and more to do with embarrassment. Whatever Phichit was up to, Yuuri knew it wasn’t any good. “What about the publisher? You said there was _deadlines_ to meet!”

 

“Oh, I talked to them.” Phichit waves him off dismissively, craning his neck to try in desperation, “They said they could afford to wait a little longer- quit blocking me, Yuuri!” This last sentence came out in a high pitched whine.

 

“You can’t just _spy_ on him.” Guilt made his face grow warm, “You don’t even live here! This is getting way out of hand--”

 

Phichit had stopped struggling, abruptly dropping his toy binoculars on the floor; with a sigh, Yuuri reached down to pick them up, his attention still focused on the other man. “Just take these and leave. _Please_.” He thrust them into the other man’s arms, but Phichit did not react, instead looking past Yuuri through the open window.

 

“Yuuri… looks like he has company.”

 

And so he did. Another blonde, older this time. Another man Yuuri had never seen in his life, sauntering into the flat. He was no less handsome, yet the impression they left differed vastly. Where  his neighbour resembled a painted angel of the old, this man was walking sin.

 

“Just how many good looking neighbours do you _have_? It’s almost like a reverse harem, here..” Dimly, he registered Phichit laugh. “Let me move in with you, Yuuri.”

 

His neighbour said something, and the other man laughed, leaning in a little too closely. His neighbour didn’t seem to mind though, in fact, he seemed to be enjoying the attention, his own hand playfully grazing the other man’s knee.

 

And then, almost like slow motion, it happened. The blonde man leaned in, and their lips met.

 

“Oh God.” He heard Phichit said again. “Oh God, Yuuri. I’m so _sorry_.”

 

Yuuri was barely aware of the curtain swinging forward, leaving his hands, unable to recover from the shock he was sure could be read all over his face.

 

-*-

 

A husky laugh, as Viktor pushed his old friend back gently, “Up to your old tricks again, Christophe?”

 

He earned a wink, as the blonde leaned back on the sofa, “Always so _stingy_ , Viktor. I was told to get you to come back to Russia some way or another. I thought I’d try my luck.”

 

“Those tricks stopped working on me ages ago. Besides, _married_ men aren’t exactly my type. ” Viktor answered breezily, rising and moving to the kitchen. “Do you want some tea? You won’t believe how delicious the tea is here. They take so much pride in it; it’s like russians and vodka.”

 

His answer succeeded in making his old friend laugh, “You? Making tea? Yakov was right, Viktor. You’re beyond saving now.”

 

The only response Christophe got was a smile, as a warm cup of tea was pressed into his waiting hand.

 

-*-

 

“What is the meaning of this, Yuuri?”

 

Drowsily, Yuuri lifted his head from his desk. He never should have given Phichit the emergency keys to his house, and it never occurred to him that all the other other times the editor had rang the doorbell were acts of courtesy, more than anything. He groaned, waving the other man away as he turned over, trying to return to the fitful land of dreams, but Phichit seemed unwilling to let him rest.

 

Behind him, the curtains remained resolutely closed. They hadn’t been open in days.

 

“No, no, you don’t get to sleep, Yuuri!” Phichit’s voice grew louder, and Yuuri winced. He knew it had been coming anyway, he just didn’t know how unprepared he would be. “I read the pages you turned in.” _Of course_.

 

Blearily, he barely recognises the papers Phichit waves in his face. It comes back to  him in images.

 

\-- _Yura standing behind the director, as Vlad smoothly delivered the next few lines; in the background, a member of staff fainted_ , _but Yura’s attention was elsewhere, as Vlad leaned forward, capturing the female lead’s lips in a passionate, soul consuming kiss--_

 

“It **can’t** end like this!” Phichit’s voice seemed to rise with each word, and all Yuuri wanted to do was to be left alone to _sleep_. He had been up all night, working on drawings, and really, he was utterly exhausted. Why couldn’t his editor just leave him alone? He had submitted his work, wasn’t that enough?

 

“And what is this about you taking a break, Yuuri?” Ah, right. He had almost forgotten about that. He had left it as a footnote, praying Phichit wouldn’t see, but naturally the man’s powers of observations were unbeatable. “You can’t leave until you _fix_ this, Yuuri! You have to make this right somehow!”

 

“I don’t know, Phichit.” Yuuri had said tiredly, raising his head, “I don’t know if I can.”

 

-*-

 

“I’m _home_.” Yuri spat out venomously, flinging the door open with as much strength as he could. It was only when he heard the hinges creak that he felt a sense of satisfaction. Viktor had insisted on this, saying it was some sort of custom here to let the other person know. Viktor, who wasn’t even Japanese, was playing pretend.

 

What an idiot.

 

But it seemed he had gone unheard, there was no answering call. No cheery, “Welcome home!” or smell of dinner being burnt. Scowling, Yuri scanned the apartment, only to spot a mop of silver hair in the living room.

 

Viktor’s back was to him, he was looking outside the window intently, and Yuri would have sworn he was deep in thought. _Ha_ . If he had enough brain cells to _think_.

 

It was all he seemed to do these days. Stare out the window, like a lost puppy. What was the old man even playing at?

 

Yuri wastes no time, landing a kick in the middle of Viktor’s back, He feels the other man jerk in surprise. “It’s too early for cherry blossoms, stupid. Even I know that.”

 

It doesn’t take long for Viktor to gain his composure, though his eyes don’t lose the faraway look that Yuri has decided he hates. “Ah, right. Silly me.”

 

“Where’s dinner anyway? I’m starving.”

 

“Oh!” Viktor appeared genuinely surprised now, though he looked like he had returned to himself. “Dinner! I completely forgot.”

 

“Honestly, what would you do without me, old man?”

 

The smile Viktor gives him is a genuine one, this time. “I don’t know, Yuratchka”

 

Yuri waits for a moment, where they both sink into silence, before starting up again. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

 

“Something wrong, Yuri?”

 

“The _webcomic_ .” He cared more than he let on, Yuri wouldn’t even have brought it up if it hadn’t been so infuriating. “The author is an _idiot_ . As if anyone would be stupid enough to think a kiss like that was real. _Obviously_ it was **acting**. If he’s going to act like a moron, he doesn’t deserve Vlad anyway.”

 

Viktor laughs, and a hand comes to rest on the top of Yuri’s head. “Did it make you cry?”

 

“G-Get off me!” Yuri’s face is as red as a tomato, as he swipes Viktor’s hand away, making a beeline for his room. “Of course _not_! Just hurry up and cook dinner, old man!”

 

He slams the door so hard it shakes, and feels a vicious satisfaction when he hears Viktor’s cry of dismay. “Be careful with that, Yuri!”

 

He throws himself on the bed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. Unlocking his phone, he scrolls past the many messages he had sent off to Otabek, all raging about the supposed finale to _Shall we act_?

 

                         _I hate you_ . He decides to send, just to drive the message home. _Why did you introduce me to that stupid comic in the first place?_

 

                          Beka sends him a picture of a cat in response. Yuri has to admit, it makes him feel a little better


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did everyone else see the chihoko thing I AM DEAD GUYS  
> Also, I have decided on a schedule where I will upload updates about every alternate day, alternating this fic with my other series, "I will go to you like the first snow". I hope this is okay with everyone!

_Sirens_. He woke to the sound of sirens.

 

The apartment complex was a quiet one, and the neighbourhood was relatively safe. Most of his neighbours were young families and elderly couples. Yuuri could count the number of times he had heard sirens from his room on one hand.

 

He rolled over, having made it to his bed this time, and closed his eyes again, trying to fall back asleep. But the wailing of the siren was persistent, and with a groan, Yuuri pushed back the covers and rose from his bed.

 

It seemed sleep was going to evade him tonight.

 

Instinctively, he pulls apart the curtains in one fluid motion, and the room is illuminated by flashing blue and red lights. Yuuri frowns as he watches the ambulance down below, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He can’t make out the tiny figure being brought in by the stretcher, and the apartment next door is eerily empty.

 

Yuuri doesn’t get any sleep that night.

 

His days blur into a routine. Wake up, drown himself in coffee. Ignore Phichit’s many calls. He finds himself sketching Vlad, more and more often, even without noticing. He would start out with lazy, soft lines and suddenly find himself with an angular jaw, two teasing eyes staring back at him, coming to life under the strokes of his own pencil, until papers fill his desk. But Yuuri is determined to leave that story behind, he throws them all in the bin.

 

His neighbour hasn’t returned to his apartment for days. Not that Yuuri is actively _looking_ ; he just notices, out of the corner of his eye.

  
It’s not like him not to come home. Not to mention the poodle was still there, scratching against the door at intervals. Nobody had dropped by to feed or walk the puppy for days. The poor thing looked like it was starving.

 

It’s not Yuuri’s responsibility. It’s _not_. HIs neighbour should just have made other arrangements. Called one of his many friends to come look after the dog.

 

Yuuri doesn’t _have_ to interfere.

 

None of this explains why Yuuri Katsuki, who hasn’t left the house in close to a year, finds himself searching up on nearby pet stores in his area

 

He tells himself he’s doing this for the puppy. He’s always had a soft spot for dogs. His own toy poodle, Vicchan, had even looked almost the same, with chocolate brown fur and pleading eyes. Only smaller.

 

Yuuri had never gotten over vicchan’s death.

 

The first step is always the hardest, and he’s positive the elderly woman living downstairs nearly jumped out of her skin, seeing him. Yuuri must have seemed like a ghost to her, and he smiles grimly at the thought, clutching his wallet tighter as he sidesteps her.

 

Had the sun always been this bright? Already he found himself squinting at it, and quickened his pace. All he had to do was grab the dog food, do his best to feed the dog through the letterbox, and he could return to the safety of his room, where he would be protected from both sun and noise by his heavy, drape-like curtains.

 

Yuuri tries not to think about what Phichit would say, if he saw him now.

 

He takes the stairs two at a time in his hurry, and soon finds himself outside the apartment.

 

 _So this is what his front door looks like_.

 

He had only ever seen the living room, and already Yuuri could hear the scratching and heavy thud of paws. It’s without thinking that he finds himself on his knees, peering through the letter box flap. “Hey, hey.. It’s okay. I’m here.” He shakes the pack of dry dog food, and smiles when he can sense the dog wagging it’s tail. “I brought food, too. You must be hungry, hm?”

 

“Where did your owner even go, anyway?” He rips open the packet, feeding in pieces and smiling as he feels the rough, wet tongue against his skin. The poodle is absolutely scarfing it down, so Yuuri had probably been right about it starving for the past few days, “It’s not like him to be so irresponsible. You don’t think he got hurt, do you?”

 

The puppy doesn’t answer, but Yuuri understands. It’s too busy eating.

 

“-- I mean, I shouldn’t care. He’s just my neighbour. I just hope he’s okay. For your sake and mine.” Now he’s just talking to himself, “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll come back. He has to.”

 

“Of course. I would _never_ leave Makkachin behind.”

 

“Right, he wouldn’t--” A whine, as the food disappears. Immediately, the dog beings frantically pawing the door again, but Yuuri isn’t paying him any mind, having scrambled off the welcome mat. The packet of dog food, falls to the ground, sending pieces everywhere, all over his shoes.

 

The man before him flashes him a dazzling grin, and Yuuri is immediately lost in his cerulean eyes.

 

“I’m Viktor Nikiforov. And you are..?”

 

-*-

 

It’s strange, seeing someone he had watched for so long in the flesh. Yet he seemed wholly familiar, Yuuri remembers each curve of his body, each one he had coaxed his pencil along.

 

Like a drawing come to life, and said man-- Viktor, now he had a name to a face, was hobbling over to his sofa, asking Yuuri to make himself at home.

 

“I didn’t mean to-- he looked _hungry_.” Yuuri tries again; Viktor has been cutting him off for awhile now, inviting him in, and he feels the need to explain himself. Viktor apparently has a voice, one with the right amount of playfulness and is exceedingly lazy with his rs, and likes using it. “I was passing by when I heard.” Yuuri continues to lie, praying Viktor lets him get a word in this time, “I- Iive next door.”

 

“Well, Makkachin can be very persuasive, so I don’t blame you. I know.” Viktor stuns him by answering, and he’s blown away by the fact he gets to see his mouth do the adorable heart shaped thing up close. It really is a heart, not a trick of the light. “We met before, when I moved in!”

 

“Y-You remember that?”

 

“Of course!” Blue eyes widen impossibly. “Now, I haven’t got the best memory, but I wouldn’t forget a face like _yours_.”

 

A face like mine? Yuuri wants to ask, but the question dies on his lips, because Viktor is suddenly looming above him, their faces inches apart. Yuuri could have counted his eyelashes, if he had not been so worried about a sudden nosebleed.

 

“You never gave me a name.” The russian-- Yuuri finally identified the accent-- drawls accusingly. “Or a _number_.”

 

He speaks with such conviction, he succeeds in making Yuuri feel _guilty_. All the guilt evaporates however, when Yuuri sheepishly apologises and Viktor practically trips over himself in an attempt to get a pen and paper.

 

Of course, the crutches don’t help.

 

He’s aware of Viktor leaning heavily on him, perhaps more heavily than necessary, when he helps Viktor off the floor, propping him up on his crutches. “You should be careful, you’re hurt. ”

 

Viktor pouts, and Yuuri is reminded of a scolded child. “What a pain! You wouldn’t believe how dangerous coffee tables are, Yuuri. Especially when you’re trying to get a glass of water in the middle of the night.” He looks down at himself, and Yuuri hears him mutter, “ _Yakov_ is going to kill me.”

 

“I’ll, I’ll keep that advice in mind.” Yuuri manages, depositing Viktor, crutches and all, less than gracefully on the sofa. “Well, thanks for inviting me over, now that I seen Makkachin is going to get fed after all, I, um, have to go..!”

 

And just like that, he flees.

 

-*-

 

“Oi. Old man.”

 

Viktor’s delightful reverie is interrupted by a disgruntled Russian tiger. Hazily, he wonders why the other is upside down, then realises he’s still in the crumpled up position where Yuuri unceremoniously dumped him on the sofa.

 

He would be upset, if it hadn’t been so _cute_.

 

“Why are you lying on your ass?” Yuri crosses his arms, “You’re supposed to be at the hospital. They’re looking for you everywhere.” Begrudgingly, he can’t help but respect Viktor for having made a getaway on crutches, no less. It must have been a comical sight; the silver haired russian hobbling out at light speed from the hospital doors, turning red in the face from effort.

 

Part of wishes he had been there to film it.

 

“But Yu~ri.” Viktor exclaims, still not bothering to get up. Or maybe he can’t Yuri hopes for the latter. “Why would I stay in the hospital, when I have my own angel to save me right here?”

 

“... Fucking _disgusting_ .” Yuri doesn’t know he what he means, and decides against asking anymore, “Yakov called, by the way.” He wrinkles his nose, “World famous figure skater, trips over a _coffee_ table in the middle of the night and breaks his ankle. Un-fucking-believable. How do _you_ think he reacted?”

 

All Viktor can do is laugh, so hard he nearly falls over the sofa to which Yuri threatens never to help him up again if he does.

 

-*- 

 

From his window, Yuuri can't help but smile at the scene before him, wondering what the two are talking about. He considers closing the blinds and allowing them the privacy they had before, but decides against it, instead going over to his desk, and picking up his pencil, this time starting over with a fresh sheet of paper.

It looked like Vlad and Yura's story wasn't over after all... 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AHHH this chapter is so long I am so sorry!! but I wanted to have the ending soooo...  
> it just turned out way longer than I thought it would OTL

“Yuri?”

 

The teenager groans, disappointed to find that Viktor is home after all. He doesn’t grace the stupid question with an answer of course, huffing as he continues to carry his package into the apartment, praying the questioning would just end there.

 

“What is that?” Yuri hurriedly tries to move away, but it’s too late. For an old man, Viktor has pretty good eyesight, and can be incredibly sharp when he puts his mind to it. “Almaty.. Could it be.. A package from Otabek?”

 

“Shut up.” Comes the brusque response, as he dumps the box on the coffee table, searching for something to open it with. “Don’t you own any scissors, old man?”

 

Viktor of course, blatantly ignores him, too busy falling over himself, “A care package! Ahh.. to be young and in love again.. Don’t you know how lucky you are, Yuri?”

 

“Forget the scissors. I’m going to need a knife to stab you with.” Comes the venomous response, though Yuri’s cheeks seemed unusually flushed for spring. Finally, whilst he tunes out Viktor’s ridiculous swooning, he succeeds in prying the box open. Otabek doesn’t disappoint, it’s filled to the brim with food (to remind him of home), clothes (because spring was coming and he might have only packed clothes for cold weather) and recipes (because he mentioned Viktor was shit at cooking).

 

He can’t help but feel a little _touched_ , after all.

 

In fact, Yuri is saved from having to hide the fact he’s teared up over Otabek’s letter, by Viktor, who had swooped in and stuck his disgusting hands upon the one thing that had caught his attention.

 

“A doll! Oh Yuri!”

 

“--Give it back.” Yuri snarled, reaching over to snatch what was rightfully his, “It’s a _Yura_ doll.”

 

And Otabek just so happened to have a matching one.

 

Something which Viktor seemed to have guessed, by the gleam in his eye. “So.. he’s the Viktor to your _Yura_?”

 

God, Yuri wanted to badly to wipe that smirk off his face. If Viktor wasn’t _already_ injured.. “It’s _Vlad_. Not everything is about you, old man.”

 

A shrug of the shoulders to indicate he could care less, as Viktor began to roll about on the couch, deeming it the only way to express his excitement with his limited mobility. “I want a lover too!” he declares, “Someone to send me dolls and care packages and cookies!” He turns bright blue eyes on Yuri, pleadingly.

 

In response, Yuri just throws the doll in his face.

 

-*-

 

“Yuuri! You have to see this!” Came Phichit’s shout. As much as Yuuri hated to admit it, he had missed his overzealous editor in the days he had been gone, and Phichit seemed more than happy to make himself at home in his flat again.

 

“ _Phichit_. You know I can’t get distracted..” He begins to whine, but the binoculars are forcefully pressed to his face, and Yuuri is left with little choice but to look.

 

Viktor curled up on the sofa, dozing off during what seemed like an afternoon nap, His ankle was propped up against the arm of the sofa, and Yuuri was glad the man would be getting some much needed rest.

  
And tucked in the crook of his arm, was a Yura doll.

 

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a fan.” He heard Phichit laughing, and felt a terrible sense of deja vu.

 

-*-

 

“No way, absolutely not.” Yuuri runs his fingers through his hair, “I can’t ever tell him. He’ll think it’s creepy, Phichit! What do I say, hi, I based an entire series on you, and we’ve only just met?  He’ll think I’m crazy!”

 

“But if he’s a fan, I’m sure he already knows!” The editor argues, “It’s not exactly hard to tell, Yuuri. And Viktor isn’t an idiot.”

 

Yuuri is about to launch a comeback of his own, when he hears the sound of his phone go off. Odd,  the only person who ever calls is Phichit, and said man was standing in front of him. Sure, he had given Viktor his number, but he didn’t think the Russian would ever use it. Or at least, not so soon.

 

“We don’t know that yet.” He all but shoves Phichit out the door, ignoring the editor’s adamant protests. “Sorry, I have to take this. Just come by tomorrow!”

 

-*-

 

“I was wondering if you could come over for dinner.”

“-- What?” Yuuri had just gotten over the initial shock of hearing Viktor’s voice over the phone, and was sure in his daze he had somehow misheard. “You want me.. To come over for dinner?”

 

“Yes.” Shamelessly, Viktor prattles on, “Well, I was wondering if you could actually come over to make dinner. Things are so hard with my broken ankle, and even without a broken ankle, I’m a terrible cook, anyway.. You can cook, can’t you Yuuri?”

 

“I- Honestly, I haven’t cooked in a while.”

 

From the window, he watches Viktor tap his chin. Even on the phone, the Russian seems as animated as ever. “I’ve heard someone say cooking is like riding a bicycle.” Yuuri is pretty sure the adage is wrong, but he doesn’t bother to correct him. “I’m sure whatever you cook will be delicious.”

 

“Right.”

 

“And poor Makkachin, with my ankle in such a state, I can’t walk her myself.” He hears Viktor give a sigh over the phone, and feels a twinge of pity. “She’s such an active puppy, she’s been wanting to go out for days..”

 

“I’ll do it.” _I must be crazy_ ,  Yuuri thinks. Months! Months of being cooped up in the apartment and now he’s throwing it away for a handsome foreign man. _I must really be going crazy_.

 

“-- Will you!” Despite the surprise in Viktor’s tone, Yuuri can’t shake the feeling he’s played right into the Russian’s waiting hands. “I would be _so_ grateful for that. When can you come over?”

 

“Umm..” Yuuri glances down at his track bottoms, aware that he looks like he’s just rolled out of bed. “Give me thirty minutes?”

 

-*-

 

“-- What are you doing? You’re supposed to keep off that ankle.” Yuri points out, watching Viktor suspiciously as the man deftly lifted himself off the sofa, with the aid of his crutches _. Invalid my ass,_ he thought darkly. Viktor had managed to play the part of helpless patient on their deathbed for a good day or two, until lying around had gotten too boring, and he had mastered the use of his crutches.

 

“I’ve asked someone over to help with dinner, and we’re going on a date after.” Viktor sings, looking exceedingly proud of himself. Despite the heavy thud of his bandaged leg being dragged after him, he looks like man walking on cloud nine. It almost makes Yuri nauseous.

 

“Why? You could just do it.” Then, almost unwillingly, “I live here too, you know. I could make the food and walk your stupid dog for you. You just never asked.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Again with the sing song voice, “You’re a _child_ , Yuri, no one could ask you to cook! And where’s the _fun_ in that?”

 

-*-

 

Hours later, Viktor’s kitchen is transformed into a battlefield. Silence reigns, apart from the sound of Viktor’s loud munching, interspersed with quiet _mms_ , and _vkusno_ s _._ And with each instance, Yuri’s face darkens and Yuuri’s blush grows several shades redder.

 

“What did you call this again?” Viktor finally lifts his head from the bowl, revealing a face adorned with crumbs. “ _Kotsudon_?”

 

“ _Katsudon_.” Yuuri corrects. It’s adorable, how Viktor’s tongue trips over the unfamiliar syllables, and it shouldn’t make his heart flutter but it does. “It’s a family recipe. My mother used to make it all the time.”

 

“A family recipe!” Viktor claps his hands together like it’s the most charming thing he has ever heard. “Thank you for letting us taste it. It’s delicious, vkusno! Right, Yuri?” He nudges the younger boy, who lets out a noise that resembles a dying cat.

 

Reluctantly, Yuri has to admit it was good. He might have appreciated it more, if Viktor hadn’t sent him down to the supermarket, on a run for eggs because there were none in the apartment. Hell, he might even have tolerated the japanese man if he had not been subject to hearing Viktor beg for _thirty_ minutes straight just for Katsuki to agree to make the dish.

 

Given his present mood, stony silence suited Yuri just fine.

 

And maybe he was having a little too much fun watching other man sweat under his glare. What did Viktor see in this guy, anyway?

 

He particularly relishes seeing the other Yuuri flinch when abruptly he gets up from his chair, no longer willing to play the third wheel. “Whatever.” He mutters, making sure to stomp extra hard on his way to the room.

 

“Oh, don’t mind him.” He hears Viktor say as he leaves, “He’s still going through his teenage years!”

 

And because of _that_ remark, Yuri makes sure to slam the door as hard as he can.

 

-*-

 

Surely things were moving a little too fast, Yuuri thought, as he stood at the street corner waiting for poor Viktor to catch up. He didn’t think Viktor had been serious about him getting to walk Makkachin, but here they were. Anxiety made his grip on the leash tighten, though Makkachin was obediently sitting by his side, happily wagging her tail.

  
Viktor didn’t know about how long he had been in that apartment. Viktor didn’t have to know, and Yuuri wanted to keep it that way.

 

He feels the cool evening air whip his face, as he calls out, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

 

Viktor answers him with a jaunty wave, “As right as rain.”

 

“You didn’t have to come.” Yuuri reminds him, once he gets within earshot, “I’ll be sure to walk Makkachin.”

 

“Oh, the doctor said some fresh air would do me some good.” Viktor answers breezily, flashing Yuuri a million dollar smile that leaves _him_ unable to walk for a moment. “Don’t worry, Yuuri. I’ll keep up.”

 

They walk along in silence for a while, Yuuri distracted by sights and sounds that have by now become foreign. He tenses when they near a road, but Viktor suggests going to the park instead, and Yuuri is more than happy to lead Makkachin there.

 

“There are just so many beautiful parks here in Japan.” He hears Viktor say, admiration apparent in his tone behind them.

 

“Where I was born, we saw the sea more than anything.” He speaks without thinking, then colours a little when he notices Viktor’s curious gaze. ‘I’m not from here, I was born in Hasetsu. It’s a little seaside town.”

 

For some reason, Viktor appears to find this the most amusing fact in the world. “It sounds wonderful. We have beautiful beaches in St Petersburg, too.” Yuuri can feel his eyes on him, “Why did you move?”

 

“For work, mostly. It seemed like a good idea… after I finished my studies.”

 

“Work--?”

 

Yuuri braces himself for the unavoidable, before two girls suddenly stop them. Both look flustered, nudging each other and whispering excitedly. Something tells him this will not end well, but before he can say anything, Viktor steps forward with a disarming smile, reaching up a deft hand to brush his fringe from his eyes.

 

“Yes,” He says, to Yuuri’s confusion, “It’s me. Do you ladies want an autograph?”

 

He seems a little disheartened when the girls sidestep him, sending him looks of perplexity. One of them giggles and says something about a silly foreigner, and Yuuri is glad Viktor seems to know too little japanese to understand the comment. Instead, they shyly push forward a notebook in Yuuri’s direction.

 

“Um.. Katsuki-sensei! We enjoyed the series so much, please, won’t you sign for us?”

 

Yuuri by all accounts is caught off guard. He vaguely remembers Phichit sneakily taking a photograph of him, saying it was for publicity, but nothing else. And besides, when they had been in the space of that small room, the numbers Phichit had rattled off, about one million, two million people having read his webcomic were just that. _Numbers_.

 

He never imagined it had already gotten _that_ popular.

 

“S-Sure.” With trembling fingers, he scrawls out his signature, but the girls aren’t done. Poor Viktor, is forced to take a picture for the three of them, with Yuuri trying to muster a smile.

 

When they finally leave, Yuuri remains a little apprehensive, unsure what Viktor’s reaction might be. Offended, perhaps, from the earlier incident, and he has no idea how to explain it all to Viktor.

 

Thankfully, the Russian seems more bemused than anything. “I didn’t know I was walking with a celebrity.” He gives a light-hearted chuckle, and for a moment Yuuri forgets how to breathe. “What is it you do for a living then, Yuuri?”

 

“I wouldn’t say celebrity..” He forces his gaze on the ground, aware of the heat radiating from his cheeks. “I just draw sometimes, that’s all.”

 

“ _Hm_.” Viktor sounds unconvinced, but is willing to let it slide.

 

“What about you?”

 

“Me?” Despite how eager he seemed to divulge every aspect of his personal life before, Viktor now appears taken aback. “Well, I- coach. I’m a coach, at an ice rink. For figure skating.” And just like that, the grin returned, and Viktor visibly relaxed.

 

“Figure skating?” It sounds outlandish, yet for some reason fits Viktor perfectly, “Wow, that sounds amazing. I’ve never been skating, myself.”

 

The look Viktor gives him is one of horror, as if Yuuri’s committed an unforgivable sin. Yuuri can’t help but laugh, when the other reaches out to grab his hand, tugging it to his chest.

 

“We’ll go one day.” He vows solemnly, “I’ll teach you. I swear to you, Yuuri, I’ll teach you to ice skate.”

 

“Okay, okay.” Yuuri gathers up the courage to give his hand a tiny squeeze in return. “It’s a deal.”

 

-*-

 

“Thank you. For today.” Viktor leans against his door, as Yuuri hands the leash over, “I’m sure Makkachin appreciated it. She likes you.”

 

“You’re welcome.” Out of habit, he bows a little, and as he straightens up, he realises Viktor’s face is suddenly inches away, catching him off guard. They stay like that for awhile, until Viktor leans in and kisses his cheek, as quick as lightning.

 

“Goodnight, Yuuri.” He barely hears the other man say, before Yuuri is stumbling home to his apartment.

 

As soon as the door closes behind him, he falls to the floor, clutching his cheek.

 

It’s just what foreigners do, right? Not to mention, Viktor was the overly affectionate type, with little concept of personal space. It wasn’t even a proper kiss. A peck on the cheek.

 

Then why couldn’t Yuuri get the moment out of his mind?

 

-*-

 

“Good Morning to you too.” The next morning finds Yuuri is a good mood, even raising up his cup of coffee in a silent toast, as he watches Viktor fuss over his breakfast from the sofa.   
  
Everything is going well, he even finished the pages he was meant to, sitting on the desk awaiting Phichit’s arrival. Maybe Viktor would even call him over to prepare dinner again, and walk Makkachin. He even managed a laugh when the sulky teenager sauntered in, no doubt adding to the commotion early in the morning.  They way they squabbled, it was like the two were siblings. Yuuri could sense the deep undercurrent of affection, beneath the bickering.

 

But something was wrong. Yuuri blinked, realising Yuri had stopped mid-conversation. Instead, the russian teenager was now staring straight at him through the window, his shocked expression morphing into one of utter hatred.

 

It took awhile for it to sink in, before Yuuri realised he was a dead man.

  
He had been caught, and by none other than Yuri Plisetsky.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter!! haha so sorry, but it might stay this way for awhile. I love writing Viktor, he's so silly and flamboyant :>

 

Stumbling back, Yuuri lost his hold on the blinds. But what was done had already been done, even now, it felt like the younger boy’s green eyes were piercing right into his soul. Already, it felt like the walls in his apartment were closing in on him, and it became increasingly difficult to even breathe. In his mind, he saw the younger russian yelling out, within earshot of Viktor, who would take his word for it, and never let Yuuri explain. 

 

Viktor would think him a pervert, and a stalker. He would never trust Yuuri again, and just like that, the magic of the past few days would fade. 

 

His heart leapt to his throat when he heard the ringing of his doorbell, and as much as Yuuri wanted to simply curl up in bed, the repeated pounding on his door told him he couldn’t afford to ignore it. 

 

Nevertheless it took him a few minutes to make it to the door, and outside stood Yuri Plisetsky, his figure trembling with rage.

 

-*-

 

“You’re _ sick _ .” Moments later, found Yuuri cornered in the stairwell of the apartment building. “You’re  _ disgusting _ .” 

 

Yuri had wasted no time, grabbing a fistful of the other’s collar, surprisingly strong for someone his age. Yuri certainly wasn’t the type to hold back on his anger, teenage hormones or not, Yuuri paled at the thought of it escalating into a full blown fight.

 

Not that getting beaten up by a fifteen year old worried him. The shame was he was feeling was already enough. “I--”

 

“Save it.” Yuri growled, green eyes widening with fury as he shoved Yuuri backwards into a wall, the japanese man wincing as he made contact with the cold plaster “There’s nothing you can say. I saw you, peeking in on us, you fucking pervert. What are you? Some kind of crazy fan? Did you  _ follow _ us here because of Viktor?” 

 

_ A fan..? _ Yuuri’s head was spinning, the more the teenager spoke, the less sense he was making. All he knew was that he was shaking, from head to toe, teetering on the edge of an unknowable precipice. Each harsh word was like a dagger to the heart, confirming what he already knew. That what he had done was wrong, that he didn’t deserve the warmth of Viktor’s friendship. 

 

This time, he didn’t know if he would ever recover.

 

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t report you to the police right now. I’m waiting for it, piggy.”

 

Yuuri shook his head, rendered mute. There was nothing he could say to help his case, little he could do to the change the reality of what he had been caught doing. His imagination was already going in overdrive, and he could feel the cold steel of handcuffs clapping around his wrists. They would go to court, Viktor would testify how the neighbour he had trusted, enough to walk his dog and look after him when he was injured, was nothing but a psychopathic stalker.. 

 

The sight of tears seemed to give Yuri pause, until his expression morphed to that of revulsion, at seeing a grown man cry. “Fucking forget it.” he jabbed a finger into Yuuri’s chest, making sure to make each jab harder than the last. “Just stay away from Viktor. He doesn’t  _ need _ your kind around. Whatever you think you’re doing for  _ him _ , just forget it.”

 

“If I ever see you watching us again, I won’t hesitate to call the police.”

 

Long after the sound of Yuri slamming the stairwell door behind him had faded, Yuuri remained, pressed against the wall, breathing hard and trying to hold back tears.

 

-*-

 

From the moment they had first met, Phichit had admired Yuuri immensely. Sometimes, he would joke that it was love at first sight. Fate was what made him late on the first day, and drew him to the only seat left in the lecture hall, next to the most quiet kid in class. 

 

Over the years he had known Yuuri, the other had always kept to himself, for the most part. Phichit had believed them to be a killer combination, he had the charisma and charm, whilst Yuuri had the talent. It was part of the reason why he had volunteered to be his editor in the first place. 

 

Not only that, he had liked that he was the one of the few people Yuuri relied on. 

 

He cared for Yuuri deeply, and did everything in his power, bringing him groceries, helping him tidy up, but Yuuri wasn’t exactly receptive to change. He was as steady as a rock, and as immovable as one too. Phichit had been foolish enough to  believe there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do, until he met Yuuri. 

 

But over the past few months, since he had started the new series, Yuuri seemed to have been overcome with new life. As intensely private as he was, he kept most of the details from Phichit, but the Thai knew it had something to do with his incredibly handsome neighbour. 

 

As much as Phichit didn’t want to admit it, he liked the new Yuuri. What had started off as a crush in college, had cooled and became something more deeper and profound than puppy love. Though sometimes he still felt hurt that he hadn’t been the one to trigger this transformation, he was happy for his friend. 

 

Or he would be, if it didn’t look like things were going downhill. Yuuri was apparently a lot more unpredictable than Phichit had first guessed, though even now he refused to tell Phichit what had transpired that caused him to retreat so far back into his shell. Already Phichit was growing worried, consumed with thoughts about how he could get Yuuri to  _ eat _ something that wasn’t coffee.

 

So preoccupied, that he had nearly bumped into someone in the corridor. 

 

He recognised him at once of course, had seen him as often as Yuuri had. Not in real life, but through Yuuri’s careful hand, under the tender strokes of Yuuri’s pen.  _ He’s taller than I thought he would be _ . 

 

And more distracted too. Phichit had caught him sneaking glances at Yuuri’s door, and had the impression he had been pacing before the editor had arrived.

 

“Hello!” He raised a hand in a wave, making sure to sound as cheerful as he could, “Can I help you!”

 

“Oh..! No, no. I was just.. walking.” Viktor flashed him a smile, noticing the groceries he was carrying. “Do you live here too?”

 

“Nope. I’m here to see Yuuri.”

 

“Ah, yes, Yuuri!” Viktor seemed a little excited at the sound of the name, blue eyes lighting up at once, “I know him. We’re.. Neighbours. I was just wondering how he was, it’s been awhile.”

 

“Oh,” Phichit waves him off, “Yuuri gets like that sometimes; holes himself up when he’s working. I wouldn’t take it personally if I were you.”

 

It was almost laughable, how relieved Viktor looked, and now he nearly skipped away, quite a feat to be managed on crutches. “That’s good to hear! I’ll be going back now then, I’ll just, ah, come back later!”

 

_ He’s cute _ . Phichit smirked to himself,  _ I can see why Yuuri likes him so much _ . 

 

-*-

 

“-- What did you leave behind again, Phichit?” Yuuri’s unhappy voice could be heard calling out before he threw the door open. 

 

“Careful there.” Came the cheeky reply, “I almost mistook you for Yuri.”

 

“... Viktor?” The colour drained from his face, and immediately he stepped outside, shutting the door behind him. The last thing he wanted was for Viktor to see all the sketches. The russian had a way of catching him off guard, and Yuuri already sensed with a sinking feeling that he knew what the following conversation was going to be about. He risked a glance at Viktor’s face, but saw no anger. Only bemusement, as other man gestured airily. 

 

“It’s like he has a personal vendetta against doors.” With furrowed brows, he closed in on Yuuri, who barely felt his back brush against his own front door. “And you, haven’t been answering my calls.”

 

“I-I’ve been busy..”

 

“I know. But I heard from your friend that you would be finished with work by now.”  _ Damn Phichit _ . Viktor cleared his throat, and for one ridiculous moment, Yuuri readied himself for a heartfelt confession. “-- Makkachin misses you.”

 

“Makkachin..?”

 

“It’s been soo difficult to walk her, in these crutches, we can’t get very far, and you know what she’s like, always so impatient. She misses the park you brought her to.” Viktor launched into an all too familiar speech, and clicked his tongue, almost admonishing Yuuri for his betrayal of Makkachin. “It’s sad, that there’s no one to help her, at my lowest point..”

 

“But you managed to get all the way here--”

 

Viktor simply carried on as if he hadn’t heard him, and Yuuri had the faint impression that this was how most of their conversations were going to go. “And Yuri wanted to taste your delicious dinner again. All week long we’ve been having takeaway,  Господи!  A growing boy like Yuri, having to eat unhealthy takeaway, for all his days..”

 

If he wasn’t a coach, Yuuri figured Viktor could try his hand at acting.  _ Like  a character he knew _ . “For some reason, I’m sure Yuri doesn’t exactly mind that much.”

 

“-- All I wanted to do was take him in, and be the best _ father  _ I could be, provide for him, but now I’m injured all I can do is call people on the phone, and bring him terrible, terrible food.. I’m a failure!”  Was that a tear Yuuri saw, in Viktor’s eye? 

 

“... Alright. I’ll do it.” Once more, he couldn’t shake the feeling he had played right into the russian’s waiting hands, especially when the other man threw an arm around him, gleefully. 

  
“I knew you wouldn’t let me down, Yuuri!”

 

-*-

 

As promised, Makkachin was walked, and dinner was made. Thankfully, Yuri seemed to be out-- practising, Viktor promised, though practising what, Yuuri still didn’t know-- and Viktor had somehow roped him into having dinner, not wanting the dishes to go to waste.

 

“But you told me I was cooking for Yuri.”

 

“Oh, silly me. Must have slipped my mind. Yuri said he was eating out tonight,  да.”

 

All Yuuri could do was bite his lip, as he picked up his chopsticks, doing his best to avoid looking at the Yura doll sitting innocently on the sofa. 

 

Peace did not last long however, as a well aimed kick at the door announced that the teenager was home, earlier than expected. 

 

“ What the fuck--?” Before the boy could even finish his sentence, Yuuri was already on his feet, mumbling some excuse about a deadline he had forgotten about, and scampering out of the apartment, covering his ears against Viktor’s cries that the food hadn’t even been touched. 

 

It was only when he left, that Yuri seemed satisfied. Viktor on the other hand, was pouting, pushing aside his food now. “I know you don’t like him, Yuri, but did you have to do that? You ruined our dinner date.”

 

“Dinner date my ass.” Comes the brusque response. “He just doesn’t know his limits, does he? Fucking piggy.”

 

“Actually,” Viktor crossed his arms, “I invited him over myself. He wasn’t answering any of my calls.” 

 

“That’s because you’re an idiot.” Yuri rolled his eyes, leaning forward, “You don’t understand. He acts all innocent, walking your damn dog, cooking us dinner, but he’s a pervert, just like the rest of them. Do you know what I caught him doing the other day?”

 

“What?” The gleam in Viktor’s eye was just what Yuri needed, and impulsively, he decided,  _ to hell with it _ . He looked forward to seeing Viktor horrified, and realising Yuri had been right all along. Maybe he could even  _ learn  _ something. 

 

“He was  _ watching _ us. From the window.” he jerks his head towards the living room, “And I don’t think it was the first time. You should have seen his face. He probably  _ likes _ it.”

 

It falls flat, all Viktor does is lean back, and let out a hearty laugh. Already, Yuri feels his blood pressure steadily rising. 

 

“What? What is it, old man? What’s so funny?”

 

“So that’s what this fuss is about? And I thought it was something serious, since Yuuri avoided me for days..” The return of the pout makes Yuri want to slap him. Almost. “Well, I think it’s cute. Adorable,  да? He even has these bright yellow binoculars..” Viktor taps his chin thoughtfully, blissfully unaware of Yuri’s growing rage, “And he still doesn’t know I can see him.”

 

Then, cheerfully, “I was thinking of starting yoga after my cast is off. In the living room. Do you think he will like that?” 

 

At once Yuri is on his feet, knocking the chair to the ground. “ No, it’s not  _ cute _ . It’s fucking disgusting. You two, the two of you, you deserve each other! I should never even have tried to help you in the first place, you idiot!”

 

The sound of Viktor’s laugh is drowned out by the resounding slam of the door, this time, causing a screw to pop out of place and roll onto the ground. 

 

“Watch the door, Yuri!” 

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !! thank you so much for the kind comments, I really appreciated them ^O^
> 
> tbh, I've been in the midst of planning out a sequel, but of course nothing is confirmed until I get the chapters down. Not sure if anyone would be interested in that, though!

In the beginning, Yuuri spent every moment breaking out in cold sweat, waiting anxiously for the moment that VIktor would upbraid him for his stalking ways. He was sure Yuri would have told him by now, given that the younger boy didn’t seem like the type to hold back, and wanted nothing more to do with Yuuri. In fact, he was sure despite the praises Viktor sang from him about his katsudon, that Yuri wanted him out of their lives altogether.

 

But as the days passed, nothing changed. Viktor never mentioned anything, and eventually, Yuuri stopped freezing up every time the man gestured to his window, or made a passing comment about the view.

 

He continued to walk Makkachin and cook dinner, venturing beyond katsudon to make Viktor a variety of Japanese dishes. His own kitchen was buried under stacks and stacks of drafts, but cooking in Viktor’s apartment reminded him of helping his mother out at the hot spring in Hasetsu. He was unprepared for the tug of nostalgia such a simple thing could bring, and it occurred to him that Viktor was not only enabling him to forge new ties, but seek out old ways as well.

 

So he was surprised when he received a call one morning, nowhere near dinner time, from Viktor himself.

 

“Yuuri! Today is the day, I’m going to fulfil my promise to you!”

 

“Promise? What promise?” Yuuri questioned, in the middle of sketching out Vlad’s very well defined abdomen area, nothing less for an actor. “I was going to come around later to make dinner.”

 

A click of the tongue, and Viktor even succeeds in sounding crestfallen, “-- Don’t you remember our promise, Yuuri? I said I would teach you ice skating!”

 

“-- Eh, Ice skating? Today?”

 

“Why, you don’t have anything on, do you?”

 

“Well, not exactly, but--”

 

“Then it’s settled. Meet me in the corridor in ten minutes, and be sure to dress warm!”

 

-*-

 

“Ah, Yuuri. You’re so _kawaii_!” The word sounds laughable with Viktor’s thick accent, but it makes Yuuri’s heart flutter just the same, grateful for the scarf that at least covered his flushed cheeks.

 

“Where’d you learn that?”

 

“Oh, here and there. I’m picking up lots of new words!” Viktor boasted, looking Yuuri up and down appraisingly. It had taken Yuuri ten minutes to unearth his winter clothes, and he wasn’t sure if this was regular attire for going to the rink, or if Viktor just wanted to see him bundled up. The twinkle in Viktor’s eye told Yuuri it was the latter. “Now come on, we’ll take my car.”

 

His car turned out to be a lurid pink convertible, it’s garish colour reminding Yuuri of the barbie cars his older sister Mari, used to drive her dolls in when they were younger. He didn’t even know they made cars like this in Japan, much less sold them. Yet he probably should have expected nothing less from Viktor.

  
Viktor took his silence for amazement, flashing him a grin as he honked the horn. In that moment, Yuuri prayed for the ground to open up and swallow him, in front of everyone else in the carpark.

 

“Get in Yuuri, we’re going ice skating!”

 

-*-

 

Yuuri was beginning to discover that Viktor was anything but a perfect man. In fact, his many faults included his tendency to over-exaggerate, his clumsiness, his inability to cook, his forgetfulness and..

 

His terrible driving.

“We’re here!” Viktor sang, jumping out of his car with ease, as Yuuri staggered out of the passenger side, looking a little green in the face. It was a wonder they hadn’t been stopped by the police, he was sure they had broken a hundred traffic rules on the way here already. Maybe he’d come up with some excuse to walk home instead. Anything was better than getting into _that_ car again.

 

“Are you sure they’ll be alright with you taking up two lots?” Yuuri gestured helplessly, but Viktor paid him little mind waving a careless hand in his direction that meant, _no problem_.

 

“Of course!”

 

-*-

 

Yuuri had never set foot in the neighbourhood rink before, but even he had admit to admiring it. Already there were children as tall as his knee on the ice, shrieks of laughter bouncing off the wall. Viktor waltzed in there like a celebrity, plucking his shades off and gesturing for Yuuri to go rent a pair of skates.

 

“I have my own.” He proudly showed off a pair of skates, complete with gold blades that made Yuuri gape in awe.

 

He had just been about to do up the laces of his skates when he was interrupted by a familiar voice.

 

“Oi, what’s he doing here!”

 

The last person he had expected to see was Yuri, but a glance at Viktor revealed he didn’t feel the same. “Yuri! Isn’t it great? Yuuri’s never been ice skating, and I agreed to teach me.”

 

“ _Teach_ him?” Green eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’re supposed to be-”

 

“Do you… ice skate too, Yuri?” Yuuri asked tentatively, glancing between the two.

Yuri looked at him like he had grown two heads.

 

“-- Of course he does. He’s my best _student_ !” Viktor announced triumphantly, “I told you I was coaching, and this is him! Of course, we haven’t done any _major_ competitions yet, but he’s been doing well! However.. Today isn’t the day for lessons, Yuri.” The pair exchanged a meaningful look, and Yuri seemed enraged. “I told you to rest at the apartment.”

 

“My _coach_ ?’ Yuri spat out, in a way that didn’t sound like he was speaking to his coach at all. “You’re crazy, old man. As if I would ever _need_ a coach like you! This isn’t what Yakov let you come here for, damn it! And you!” he turned his attention to Yuuri, jabbing a finger in his direction, “It’s called the ice tiger of Russia, look it up!”

 

And with that, he threw his hands up in disgust, and stomped away.

 

Viktor apparently found it more funny than anything. “He reminds me so much of myself, when I was fourteen.”

 

“I am FIFTEEN, get it right!” It was a wonder Yuri hadn’t lost his voice. “I’m _NOTHING_ like you!”

 

“See you back at the apartment!”

 

-*-

 

“That’s it. Slowly, Yuuri.”

 

For all his dramatics, Viktor’s voice could be calming when he made an effort, and Yuuri was beginning to see why he was such a popular teacher. Popular, given the students that had flocked to the sides of the rink to watch. Yuuri tried to concentrate, but was distracted by the fact Viktor’s hands were closed tightly around his.

 

“Whoa--”

 

Ice could be unpredictable, as Yuuri sound found out, a misstep causing his left foot slide forward. Before he could fall, Viktor caught him, a hand wrapping securely around his lower back, another still clasped around his right.

 

“You almost had it.” Viktor laughs into his ear, “ Looks like, I have a new star pupil already.”

 

-*-

 

“We’re back on land now.” it’s Yuuri’s turn to chuckle nervously, glancing at their linked hands, “I can walk just fine.”

 

“I know.” Viktor answered, but made no move to release his hand. “You have the best ideas, Yuuri! You’re right, it’s the perfect weather for an evening walk.”

 

“Mm..” Yuuri winced, grateful for his own quick thinking. Maybe Viktor wasn’t the only one who had a few tricks up his sleeve. “If only Makkachin was with us.”

 

“If only.” Viktor agreed, “Yuuri.. You must be tired after today. I think I can survive on takeaway for one night.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I’m sure. Though they definitely can’t cook as well as you. Your cooking must be the best in all of Japan!” The hold on his hand tightened, and despite the melodrama that accompanied most of the other man’s antics, he sensed Viktor was taking care to speak from the heart. “Before you, I almost forgot how nice it was, to eat a homemade meal.”

 

“You’re an athlete. A coach, maybe, but you still have to keep up your strength.” Yuuri bit his lip, “I was looking up some recipes for russian dishes, actually.. I thought I would try my hand at some. But you have to tell me honestly how they taste.”

 

Viktor’s eyes were shining, “Of course.”

 

Without him realising, Viktor had drew closer, and just before Yuuri stumbled off the path onto the grass, an arm wrapped around his back, and Viktor pressed his lips against his.

 

-*-

 

“What is it? What’s wrong!” Viktor yelped, only just stopping himself from taking a page of Yuri’s page and kicking the door open, “I heard screaming.”

 

Yuri looked up from his bed, a hand clamped over his own mouth. By his side was his phone, which had been tossed aside in his excitement. Though there was barely any light in the room, it was clear his eyes were shining.

 

“-- Fuck off, old man.” Even his insult lacked its usual bite. “And don’t come barging into my room whenever you want to!”

 

“What is it? Did a cat get elected as the president of Russia?”

 

Yuri rolled his eyes, “No, idiot. The webcomic updated. They just--” he hesitates, as though deliberating on whether to share this information with Viktor, “They had their first kiss.”

 

He’s met with a hearty laugh, “Was that all? With you screaming like that, I thought a spider got into your room again.”

 

The joke didn’t go down well, Yuri sitting up quickly as anger flashed over his features, “It was one time!”

 

-*-

 

“Please, Yuuri!” Eyes as wide as he could make them, the editor threw himself over the desk, stopping the artist in the middle of his drawing. “I’ll let you hold off deadlines for a month!”

 

“... I like drawing now. I can meet the deadlines no problem.”

 

“I’ll clean your house for you!”

 

“It’s fine the way it is. And you do it anyway, because you can’t stand the mess.”

 

“I’ll take out the trash for you!”

 

“Nope. I can do it myself.” Yuuri sighed, “Seriously Phichit, I’m telling you, _nothing_ happened! You don’t have to take the chapter that literally. _Shall we act!_ isn’t about me, or anyone!”

 

Phichit remained unconvinced, shooting Yuuri pouting looks, only to find the japanese man was unrelenting. “You’re so mean, Yuuri.” he whined, finally getting up.

 

But even that only got a smile out of the artist.

 

-*-

 

 _Well, at least I don’t have to worry about him anymore_.. Phichit thought to himself, as he finally left the apartment, closing the door behind him. Yuuri wouldn’t even budge, but Phichit wasn’t ready to give up just yet. Already his mind was at work, scheming up different ways to persuade Yuuri to spill the details of his personal life tomorrow.

 

And his smile widened when he caught sight of familiar silver hair.

 

“Oh! You again!” Viktor smiled, recognising him in return. “Is Yuuri still working?”

 

“He’s a born workaholic.” Phichit shrugged his shoulders, more interested in what the russian seemed to be hiding behind his back. A flash of blue. “Are those roses?”

 

Viktor as it turns out, isn’t the type to shy away from attention. “Good eye.” he whipped them out without being asked twice, “Do you think he will like them?”

 

“Of course! I’ve never seen _blue_ roses before” Already, Phichit’s voice was noticeably higher, barely able to contain his excitement, as he gestured, “He’s all yours.”

 

It was only later, when Phichit was out of the building, that he let out the piercing scream he had been holding back, unable to keep it from escaping his lips.

 

-*-

 

“What’s that sound?” On the screen, he watched Otabek’s brow furrow, one hand propped under his chin. The two were having their daily skype session, and even Yuri could see it was getting late in Kazakhstan.

 

Yuri barely glances at the window, uninterested. “Must be the sirens. We don’t get police very often around here, though.”

  
“Hm, interesting. So that’s what sirens sound like in Japan.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ahh we've come so far :') I'm in the midst of planning the sequel right now!! <3 Thank you for all of your kind comments.

 

Life had become almost like a dream, for Yuuri. Now him and Viktor were officially dating, and the webcomic was progressing well. They went on dates, and spent as much time as possible together, making meals, shopping for ingredients. Viktor, despite his extroverted personality, was kind and understanding; many afternoons were spent on the sofa in his apartment, when Yuuri couldn’t muster the energy to go out. Of course, Yuuri never returned the favour of letting VIktor into his home, and it became a running joke between the two of them. The patience Viktor showed to him warmed Yuuri’s heart. 

 

They had been walking Makkachin on one breezy evening like any other, when Viktor gestured to a nearby bench. 

 

“Yuuri, there’s something I need to tell you.”

 

Just like that, the colours in the world already seemed bleaker. “What is it?”

 

“I’m going back to Russia.” Something in Yuuri’s expression must have given his rising panic away, because Viktor hurriedly continued, “Not  _ permanently _ . I wouldn’t do that to you, but there are few things I need to handle back in St Petersburg. I’ll be back before you know it.”

 

What else could he do, but nod numbly? Especially when Viktor, looking extremely relieved, clapped a hand on his back. “Thank you for understanding. Let’s head back and make dinner?”

 

-*-

It sounded almost ridiculous. Yuuri spent the night before tossing and turning, wondering if he had been part of some elaborate scam. Yet Viktor hadn’t taken anything from him, except perhaps his heart. 

 

And Yuuri felt that might be the worst kind of scam of all.

 

But as Viktor promised, it seemed like it was only going to be a short trip. The apartment stayed as it was, and Yuuri had personally helped Viktor fill up his suitcase with clothes fit for the Russian weather. The last thing that was tucked in the luggage were those skates, and that was when Viktor threw his arms around him. 

 

“I’m going to miss you, Yuuri!”

 

“Me too, Viktor. Me too.”

 

Viktor’s face was buried in his shoulder, and Yuuri was unable to catch the guilty look that crossed the other man’s features, “I’m really sorry about this.”

 

Yuuri was caught off guard by his abrupt sincerity, and for a moment, he wondered,  _ What if this really was a scam _ ? “It’s alright. You just have to head home and settle some things right? It’s perfectly normal.”

 

“Yes.. right.” Yuuri was once more surprised by his listless answer, but before he could question Viktor further, the man had already slipped out of his arms. 

 

“Now, where did I leave the luggage for Makkachin’s things?”

 

-*-

 

As Yuuri watched Viktor’s waving figure grow smaller and smaller up the escalator past the departure hall, he had the unmistakable feeling the Russian was going to be gone for awhile. 

Yuri had left too, a few weeks ago, and maybe Yuuri should have taken his absence for what it was-- a warning sign, instead of appreciating the sudden peace and quiet. 

 

Phichit had been comically dismayed when Yuuri had told him, practically swooning over the sofa. “Did he say when he would be back?”

 

Yuuri shrugged, not able to give him an answer. From his corner, Viktor’s living room now seemed so lifeless and empty. With a sigh, he closed the blinds. 

 

It only made sense that Vlad did the same, leaving Yura’s side for a big filming project whilst Yura stayed behind, having finally scored his first big role. Yet the taste success left behind was bittersweet at best.

 

-*-

 

Just like that, Viktor faded out of his life as quickly as he had appeared. At first they had skyped often, and Yuuri enjoyed huddling in his covers, watching Viktor beam as he showed off his favourite places in his home town. There were times where he would find himself choked up with longing, to be halfway across the world with him, but as the days wore on, the calls grew less and less frequent. No doubt Viktor was busy handling whatever it was he had flown back to do, but a month after his departure, Yuuri was teetering on the brink of his old life. 

 

Probably why Phichit dragged him out this afternoon, insisting they go grocery shopping. What had been a former favourite pastime of his. “I’m not going to shop for you anymore.” The editor had announced, “You could do it with Viktor, so don’t make any more excuses, Yuuri!”

 

They were standing at the red light, Phichit prattling along about something or the other, and Yuuri’s mind had drifted.

 

“Wow!” He overheard someone say, and his attention was caught by the large screen television, currently broadcasting the winter olympics. The event, as far as he could tell, was men’s figure skating, and they were just about to announce the next skater. Figure skating was a beautiful sport, and Yuuri was involuntarily reminded of Viktor, and his own fondness for ice skating. 

 

Viktor, who was currently gliding over the center of the ice at the international olympics, dressed in a flashy purple costume, complete with golden tassels. They even had his name right, flashing on the screen, Viktor representing Russia in the senior division at 27 years old. Yuuri couldn’t believe his eyes. 

 

“Yuuri? Yuuri, the light already turned green.” 

 

Phichit sounded annoyed as he retraced his steps in search of his best friend, only to see him standing in a daze. He followed his gaze, and immediately blinked in surprise. “Oh.. Oh my god.”

 

-*-

 

“Viktor Nikiforov. Age 27, from St Petersburg Russia. Five time world champion, with titles in the grand prix finals, the olympics, and several other european championships. He started skating when he was 12, under the equally famous coach Yakov Feltsman, and was awarded a gold during his first junior championship. He currently holds several world records in male figure skating..” It almost felt as if Phichit was speaking underwater, Yuuri was having a hard time trying to make out just  _ what _ the editor was saying. “He shocked the world by disappearing during off season this year, but has returned to the ice with renewed vigour and has high hopes this season… Yuuri, he’s a living legend! And isn’t this-- Yuri? Yuri Plisetsky, also on the Russian team. He made his senior debut this year!”

It was like being hit by an oncoming truck, and Yuuri vaguely remembered Viktor’s vague comment about Yuri having entered some minor competitions, and doing well. But who on earth would have interpreted that as the world championships?

  
“You have to watch this, Yuuri!” Phichit had already chased down a youtube link, to a video featuring a younger Viktor, sporting long hair and a blue flower crown, “I can’t believe.. After all the time you two spent together… you honestly didn’t have a clue?”

 

Now Phichit turned on him accusingly, as if Yuuri would have been as masterful as to keep a secret that big from his best friend. “No, of course not! He mentioned being a fan of ice skating, and coaching, but I thought..” He swallowed, “I never thought he was a figure skater himself, much less the best figure skater in the world!”

 

“Well, with a body like that, we should have known.”

 

-*-

 

Up until the last moment, Phichit had asked him if he was absolutely sure. And Yuuri could understand why. For years he had barely stepped out of the apartment, and now he was prepared to throw away everything and travel halfway across the world for a man he only meant months ago. 

 

It was madness. 

 

But Viktor made him do mad things. And maybe this was just one of them, Yuuri couldn’t help but think, as he watched Narita airport fade out of sight from the tiny airplane window. 

 

They had tracked down this next competition after the Olympics to be in China for the Cup of China, one of the first grand prix final events, and that’s where Yuuri was headed. Part of him was terrified to find himself in a foreign country, where he barely spoke the language, but he knew the stadium where it was to be held, and hoped for the best. 

  
When he arrived, it was packed to the brim, something he hadn’t quite anticipated. How had he not noticed before? There were so many avid fans, many of whom were carrying banners with Viktor’s face plastered over them. Yuuri was beginning to understand where Viktor got his inflated ego from. 

 

Thankfully, he was spotted before he even settled down in his seat, by none other than his fifteen year old Russian counterpart. 

 

Green eyes had widened, before he had grabbed his arm. Not a word was exchanged between them, except for when Yuri flashed his pass at security and said brusquely, “He’s with me.”

 

Then he had been forcibly sat down on a bench, and Yuri had disappeared, supposedly to get ready for his own turn. 

 

Yuuri was impressed the moment the competition started. He had regretfully missed the first half, but thankfully Viktor’s own program was scheduled last. He had thought the few tricks Viktor had showed him on the ice in Japan that day were beautiful, but being so close to the rink, he could finally appreciate the artistry that went into each carefully crafted program. It was like weaving a narrative through movement; perhaps him and Viktor weren’t so different after all. 

 

That was only part of the reason why Viktor’s turn found him on the edge of his seat.

 

“-- And now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to welcome Viktor Nikiforov.” The announcement boomed overhead, and the crowd went wild, “Nikiforov won his sixth gold at the olympics this season, after returning from an off season that left everyone in the skating world in a frenzy. His free skate today will feature the song,  _ Stammi Vicino _ , which translates to ‘Stay close to me’. Nikiforov was reportedly inspired by his mysterious off season, and dedicates this free skate to a special someone he met during that time, who he claims has given him both love and life.”

 

From the moment the music started, there were tears in Yuuri’s eyes. He couldn’t help it, before he knew it, he was clinging by the side of the rink, struck with the desire to be as close to Viktor as possible. And he had the feeling Viktor felt the same, the fluidity of his movements captured the abject longing, the intensity of his gaze, the lowering of his lashes, made it clear to see he was pining, pleading with an unknown lover. Begging for him to stay, and as the music swelled, so did the emotion. 

 

And all of it, was for Yuuri. 

 

He understood what Viktor was trying to say now. He didn’t before, because he had been slow, but now Yuuri knew just what it was the Russian man was so desperately trying to say. 

  
As the song came to an end, and Viktor took on his final position, their eyes finally met across the rink. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! what with mother's day and all, I've been kind of busy, but I hope you all can still enjoy this chapter, even if it's coming a little later than usual :)

 

In a heartbeat, he finds his legs unable to move, but Viktor act on the eagerness he cannot convey. All at once, the man is off the ice, and warm hands close around Yuuri’s shoulders. Viktor is standing so close, he can count his eyelashes.

 

Whenever he opens up, Viktor meets him halfway.

 

They don’t do anything; there is no kiss, no hug even. Just the gaze was enough in the moment, before Viktor gently pushed him towards the bench, and Yuuri reached up his fingers to brush his.

  
It was a touch that said, _I’m so glad you’re here. I’ll explain everything later._

 

 _I can’t believe you’re here_.

 

-*-

 

Yuuri watches from the sidelines, as Viktor wows everyone in the kiss and cry, a hand wrapped around a burly man he can only guess is Yakov. It’s fascinating even to watch the confidence Viktor manages to exude, the way he wins his audience over. Though Yuuri still knows little about skating, he can tell the scores are good by the cheers that erupt all over the stadium,

and the way Viktor pumps his fist in the air.

 

There is still so much to be said, on the plane ride here, he came up with a million questions to ask. Yet the moment he had seen Viktor, he was struck with a loss for words, and a knowledge that it would all be resolved with time.

 

After all, Viktor had been skating for _him_.

 

-*-

 

“I’m sorry, Yuuri..”

 

Hours later, they find themselves in the only cafe still open, and Yuuri marvels at how the light reflects off Viktor’s silver hair, the man still glowing from his latest victory. He can’t help but notice these things, he has an eye for detail.

 

“It was never my intention to lie to you, about competing in figure skating.” Viktor smiles ruefully, “I tried to tell something like the truth.”

 

And now Yuuri faces the unavoidable, he knows the bridge will be crossed, he just has to figure out how. Fingers curl around the cup of tea, so unfamiliar and different from the tastes at home. “But you’re not a coach.”

 

“No. But I was going to be.” The words are produced empathetically, and he can’t help but find it amusing that Viktor remains unchanged, whether in Japan or Russia. The notion comforts him. “Before I met you.”

 

Viktor seems affronted by Yuuri’s look of disbelief. “I mean it. When I flew to Japan, I was just running away. I thought if I could get as far away from my problems, they would just disappear. And Japan was well, the furthest place I could think of. I didn’t even know if I was going to come back, to Russia, or to skating. Meeting you gave me the courage to.”

 

“You’ve read my wikipedia page by now, haven’t you? I’ve been skating since I could walk. Maybe even before then. I’ve been competing since I turned eleven. Now I’m an old man of twenty seven. I’ve given so many years of my life to skating, I didn’t think I had anything more to give. It’s like they say, without inspiration, you’re as good as dead. And when you met me, I was on the verge of dying. ”

 

Viktor’s speech is flowery and dramatic as can be, but Yuuri understands the sentiment. And he understands this is just how the Russian is. If he was one thing, at least he was consistent. All this time, he had thought it was Viktor who was influencing him, shaping him for better or for worse. It never occurred to him that he was doing the same.

 

“You gave my skating purpose, Yuuri. I would never lie about that. You’re the reason now, that I want to show off to the whole world. ”

 

Yuuri knows his answer, as he reaches for Viktor’s hand over the table, still warm despite the chilly weather. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? Of all the secrets you could have had...”

 

The way Viktor’s mouth moves into the shape of a heart next, makes Yuuri’s own heart skip a beat.

  


-*-

 

Yuri Plisetsky had just sprawled on his hotel bed, when the insistent rapping on his door drew his attention away from his phone. There was only one person who dared to disturb the ice tiger of russia like this, and he readied himself with his ugliest glare yet.

 

“-- What is it, old man? Where’s _katsudon_?”

 

At Viktor’s look of confusion, he throws his hands up in the air. “Who do you think let him in?”

  
What he’s not expecting, is to be engulfed in a hug, but before he can shove Viktor away, the man has already let himself into the hotel room, and is making himself at home on the bed. “-- Sleeping. He’s having a hard time adjusting to the time zone, poor thing.”

 

“Hah. Poor thing. As if.” Eyes narrow. “Why aren’t you with him?”

 

A look of guilt crosses Viktor’s face, only momentarily, and Yuri feels his blood pressure start on a steady incline. “I.. couldn’t.. Sleep?”

 

“Listen here, _old_ man! You’re not a kid and I’m not your fucking babysitter! If you came here to gush about how _amazing_ katsudon is or whatever, you can shut it. I had enough of it in Japan!”

 

“But Yu~ri!”

 

“I said shut it!”

 

-*-

 

“Yu~ri.”

 

\-- _Yura’s face was obviously twisted in pain, as he sat on the cluttered floor, surrounded by Vlad’s things, helping him pack. Then all of a sudden, in the next panel, Vlad had reached over and hugged Yura, with all his might, a hand thrown around his shoulder. Lips pressed to the ear, murmured the words, I’m going to miss you --_

 

“Yu-ri.”

 

 _\-- Yura stands at the bottom of the escalator, looking incredibly lonely, as Vlad waves eagerly moving further and further away. As Vlad disappears right at the top, Yura turns away, and wipes away a tear, once more appearing devastated, but only when Vlad was not looking_ \--

 

“Yu~ri.”

 

\-- _Where are you going? Clamoured the director and the crew, but Yura didn’t care, pushing past them with his passport in hand, it was clear where he had to be, with Vlad, in Moscow, all obligations be damned, even if it meant having to give up the most precious opportunity in his life--_

 

“Yu~ri.”

 

“WHAT!” Annoyed, he glares over at Viktor, who for the past half an hour had been lying upside down on his bed. Nothing Yuri had done had succeeded in getting the old man to leave. He thought ignoring him might do the trick, but Viktor was difficult to even ignore. _Idiot_. “Quit calling my name!”

 

A disgusting smile. “I like it.”

 

Yuri feels the urge to vomit. “Get out!”

 

Viktor pouts, and rolls over. Yuri is overcome with the desire to kick him where it would really hurt. “You’re always reading that comic.. Can’t I see?” He feels Viktor creeping over his shoulder, and hastily hides his phone away.

 

“Go read it yourself! You have a phone, old man! ”

 

All of a sudden, Viktor flounces off the bed. “Well, maybe I will!”

  
“And stay out!” Yuri calls out, hearing a click as the door to the hotel room shuts. Peace at last, to finish the latest chapter after a gruelling day of competition. He didn’t think Viktor would actually _read_ it. He didn’t even know if Viktor _could_ read.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the last! Here we are at the home stretch :')

 

As Yuuri turned over in his sleep, he found the blankets empty, his hands closing around thin air.

 

“Viktor?” He asked groggily, pushing himself out of bed. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he squinted against bright glow from the desk. “Viktor, what are you doing?”

A glance at his bedside told him that it was nearing five in the morning, and he began to wonder if it was he was really the one suffering from jet lag.

 

Almost at once, he heard the guilty sound of a laptop clicking shut, and watched Viktor’s figure cross the room, slipping in between the sheets. Slowly, he felt Viktor’s fingers gently coax him back to bed, pushing him back into the comfort of plump pillows; Yuuri’s body, drunk on sleep, was only to happy to oblige.

 

“-- It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it, Yuuri.”

 

He had been too tired to argue, and was fast asleep in moments. Later, when he woke, he remembered the moment like a dream.

 

-*-

 

So much between them changed, and yet so much stayed the same. Yuuri had braced himself for the changes that would come with dating an international sports star, but Viktor was nothing if not consistent. He still like katsudon, and walks in the park. He was still silly, and ridiculous, and every bit as charming as the first day Yuuri met him, both on and off camera. Maybe even more so, now he had gotten a burden off his chest

 

Yuuri had been in the middle of composing a brief email to Phichit, assuring him they were doing well, and yes, he had found his way, and no, he could not send a selfie for Instagram when Viktor had thrown his arms around him from the back, completely catching him off guard. It was a meagre response to the millions of emails the editor had flooded his inbox with, but Yuuri figured Phichit should be grateful for any email at all.

 

“What are you up to..” Viktor breathed into his ear, “... Yura?”

 

Instantly, Yuuri jerked away, colour flooding his cheeks. “What.. what did you call me?” He half shrieked, nearly dropping the laptop on the floor in surprise. There was no way..?

 

For a moment they stared at each other. Viktor was the first to look away, breaking the silence with a laugh. “-- It’s a nickname.” He drew his face closer, and Yuuri’s discomfort only grew. “You don’t like it?”

 

“Huh? Of course not--” Yuuri stammered, but Viktor had already moved away, reaching for the laptop and scanning the email. He made his disapproval known by a click of his tongue.

 

“You didn’t even mention the kiss!’ He started accusingly.

 

“Trust me, the less Phichit knows, the better.”

 

-*-

 

“I don’t see what the problem is.” Christophe purrs into the phone, “You’ve had plenty of fans before, Viktor. Don’t you remember the fan-art of you and me? I still have that hanging on the wall.”

 

“I’m sure your husband loves passing by that graphic, hand drawn picture of us every time he walks down your hallway.”

 

“I have to find some way of keeping him on his toes.” Christophe’s response is as flippant as usual, but he makes an effort to appear serious for once. “You should just come out and tell him, Viktor. It’s not like you to keep secrets.”

 

“Tell him I found his comic about the two of us? I can’t! It’s not something you can just _say_. Even I can’t manage it.”

 

A low whistle. “I never thought there would be a day Viktor Nikiforov could confess there was something he couldn’t do.”

 

“Be serious, Christophe.”

 

“I _am_ being serious. You’ll have to talk about it eventually. It’s not as if you’re _offended_ by his work. I’m sure knowing you enjoyed it will be the highest form of flattery to him.”

 

A pause, and Christophe pulls away, wondering if the connection has been dropped. Then, a dreamy sigh. “-- Reading it was re-living our love story all over again.”

 

It was Christophe’s turn to roll his eyes. “That’s it. It’s getting late, Viktor, I’m hanging up.”

Ignoring the protests on the phone, he hangs up anyway.

 

“Viktor,” he tells his dazed husband, who rolls over from his side of the bed, “He’s always asking for advice these days. I don't know why, when he just going to do whatever he wants, anyway.”

 

-*-

 

They fly back to Japan on a Sunny day, and Yuuri finds himself seated in a familiar way, before Viktor’s giant pink luggage, helping him unpack instead, unearthing withered flowers and makkachin plushes amidst piles of dirty laundry. Viktor doesn’t mean to be careless with gifts, the mistreatment is a result of last minute packing.

  
Viktor plucks something from his hands, a withered flower crown. Roses on the cusp of turning brown, petals still clinging onto their former blue shade.

 

He plops it on Yuuri’s head, and insists on taking a picture for them both. In it they are both smiling, frozen in a fragment of time.

 

“So… Yuuri.” The Russian begins, already tapping away on his phone, “When are you going to invite me over to _your_ apartment?”

 

He continues to barrel past Yuuri’s silence, Yuuri suddenly takes immense interest in searching for Viktor’s other striped sock. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I’ve always been asking you here, to the park, we never go over to your place. You never let me in, why is that?”

 

Unflinching blue eyes await an answer, and Yuuri realises he’s crossed a bridge only to encounter a mountain behind it. “You wouldn’t like it. It’s too messy.”

 

Viktor glances pointedly at the dirty laundry, haphazardly stuffed into his luggage. “Hm. You’re not hiding anything? Nothing at all?”

 

“Nope. Nothing at all.” He must have imagined the look of disappointment on Viktor’s face, because a moment later the Russian is rising to his feet, announcing he’s already bored of unpacking, and insisting on ordering in for dinner tonight.

 

-*-

 

“He’s still too shy.” Viktor murmurs to himself, lounging on the sofa. A hand rests on his abdomen, and he adopts what he likes to call his thinking pose, flipping his hair away from his eyes and glancing longing at the window. Yuuri’s light is still on, he imagines the man hunched over his desk, swiftly scrawling out pages detailing the dinner they just had. The very thought makes him swoon, his head dipping back languidly.

 

And then all of a sudden he leaps up, startling Makkachin, who had just dozed off by his side.

 

“-- that’s it! Yuri, I need a favour!”

 

-*-

 

It’s four in the morning, when Yuuri finally lays down his pencil, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He’s all about ready to collapse onto his desk, eraser dust be damned, and casts one final, exhausted look at the Viktor’s window. There’s no way the Russian is awake; a recent habit Yuuri has discovered, adding to his ever growing list of Viktor facts, is his ability to sleep through absolutely anything and everything. He envies the other for never falling victim to jet-lag.

 

And the last sight before he closes his eyes is Viktor’s dimly lit living room, and propped up against the window sill, are two plushs leaning against each other, Yura now joined by Vlad.

**Author's Note:**

> Yuuri's webtoon is basically about a highly acclaimed actor, Vlad, who after noticing the talent of Yura, a young actor down on his luck, decides to take him under his wing as his protege. He promises to teach him all he needs to know about the acting world, but as Yura contains to shadow the man, he finds himself falling increasingly in love with him. 
> 
> Basically, it's an actor au of yoi lolllll


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